


Prompt: Getting drunk and cooking together

by endemictoearth



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: Cooking, Drunkenness, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:49:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4736630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endemictoearth/pseuds/endemictoearth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, as the prompt suggests . . . however, this ended up more drunk than cooking, but it’s what my brain came up with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: Getting drunk and cooking together

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to go back and do the couple of prompts that were still hanging out in my Tumblr inbox as timed challenges. I’m only spending a limited amount of time on them and not doing much editing. So, hopefully it’s not terrible.

Rae struggled to put the key in the front door lock. She scratched the paint around the deadbolt three times. It was like trying to thread a needle with a length of rope. 

Finn started giggling next to her. She glanced over at him, too quickly, and it was like her head started to float away from her body. He didn’t seem to be laughing at her frankly laughable efforts; it was the laugh of someone who had been told a joke three hours ago and just now got it. His shoulders shuddered, and he clutched his stomach. Tears rolled down his cheeks. 

“F’fuck’sake,” Rae huffed, slowly turning her head back to the door lock and concentrating with everything in her on putting the brass key in the steel lock. “Come ON,” she gritted through her teeth. It finally worked and she leaned heavily on the door, bursting through it into the hall of their apartment building. “VICT’RY!” she crowed, still holding onto the door, for fear of falling over. 

Finn stumbled in behind and leaned heavily against the wall. He wasn’t laughing anymore. His face was sober, even if he wasn’t. 

“I’m seriously starvin’,” he declared, slurring his esses. 

“Me TOO,” Rae said, like she was shocked at how hungry she was. They’d started the night off with a spliff, so it wasn’t that surprising, but that had been hours ago, and she was having trouble remembering how they had made it home from the pub.

She tried to shut the door with the key still in the lock, but the cord her keychain was linked to was still attached to her bag and she got tangled. Finn came over to help her. 

“N-n-n-no, y’hafta turn it th’other way. No, th’OTHER way. Yeh. Tha’s it.” He handed Rae the clump of keys he’d extracted from the lock and she shoved them into her bag. His face was really close to hers and she could smell the whiskey from the chaser they’d had after their last pints. She didn’t really like the smell of whiskey, but on Finn’s breath, it seemed sweet and twice as intoxicating. 

“We’ve gotta get upstairs,” he breathed. “’Fore we fall asleep here in th’hall.” He put a heavy arm around her and steered her toward the stairs.

They made it to the first landing, and bumped into the wall, causing them both to laugh uncontrollably. “No, shh–shush. W-we’re almos’ there,” Rae whispered loudly. Together, they managed to pull themselves together enough to propel themselves up to the next landing, where Rae’s apartment was the first door on the left. 

Rae looked at the door to her apartment and started to cry.

Finn’s head was tipped back, eyes closed, but when he heard a sniff, he opened them. His drunken heart contracted at the sight of Rae in tears. “Hey, hey, hey. Wha’s th’matter, chuck?” He patted her hair as gently as his dulled senses would allow.

Rae sobbed out, “A-another … fuckin’ … LOCK.” 

Finn put his arm around her, more gently this time, and said, “Here, gimme th’bag. I-I’ll do it.” When he found the keys again, he sighed. There were half a dozen keys on her fob. “D-d’ya know which one it is?” he asked hopefully.

Rae buried her head in his shoulder, shaking it mournfully against his jacket. 

“’S’alrigh’, Rae, don’ worry.” He tried a couple of keys, and the third one slid into the lock. “See?” he smiled over at her, and she peeked out from behind his jacket collar. 

Once inside, Rae threw her bag to the floor, ripped off her jacket, kicked off her shoes, pulled out her hair grips, shimmied her leggings off from under her dress. “Tha’s better,” she sighed, standing in the middle of a pile of outfit debris. Finn grinned as he shrugged off his jacket and laid it on the back of the sofa, already covered in crocheted blankets.

“I’m still SO HUNGRY,” Rae shouted, head back.

“So’m I,” Finn replied, quiet and serious. “Should’ve bought them kebabs when we ‘ad the chance.”

“Fuckin’ hate kebabs!” Rae declared. “I’ve got some … somethin’. I know it.”

She yanked the fridge door open, Heinz bottles and jam jars rattling against each other as she did. She was looking for dairy and she found it, both butter AND milk. She twisted the cap off and took a whiff. “It’s good!” she said with delight. 

Leaving the carton on the counter, she pulled open a cabinet door. “I know, I KNOW …” she muttered loudly, rifling through the boxes until her hand lighted on the red box she was looking for. “I KNEW it,” she whispered triumphantly.

She held close it in front of her and turned around, seductively, keeping it just below her breasts, a hand on either end of the box, framing it like a precious work of art. “Look,” she breathed.

Finn’s eyes didn’t know where to put his gaze, such bounty was before him. But when his eyes focused, they read the two most beautiful words in the English language. At least to him, at this precise moment. He said them aloud, slow and reverent: “Cheesey … Pasta.” He glanced back up at Rae’s face and sighed, “I love you.”

She shook her head dismissively and set about looking for a pot to boil water in. 

Growing up, she had made it for herself so many times on nights her mum worked late, it didn’t matter that she was thirty-three sheets to the wind. The mechanisms didn’t really require her focus or attention, she was on autopilot. In fifteen minutes, they each held a bowl filled with bright orange noodles.

“I’m eatin’ mine with a spoon!” Rae said like she had discovered a new element or invented someway to take all your music with you in a convenient device.

“Ooh, yes, please,” Finn said.

They collapsed on the sofa, leaning on one another, happily shoveling pasta into their faces. 

“Best food everrrrr,” Rae sighed through a mouthful. 

Finn hummed in agreement, mouth too full to say anything. Then he swallowed, and had another moment of seriousness. “Rae,” he said.

“Hmmm?”

“Did I tell you that I loved you?”

Rae didn’t look up from her food; she just shrugged and put her spoon down. “We need some music, I think.” Her defenses were strange. She was a walled city with layers of protection. The fear of eating in front of others was clearly an part of a perimeter outpost, easily defeated by alcohol. But there were fortifications beyond that that went deep and wide, and stayed in place no matter how much she’d drunk.

Finn watched her totter over to the record player. She didn’t seem as unsteady as before; maybe the food had already soaked up some of the booze. He wanted to say the words again, to make her hear him, but she didn’t seem ready for them. So, he just sighed, took another bite and studied her arse as she leaned over the crates of vinyl, looking for the perfect soundtrack to drunken pasta eating, and probably also an excuse to delay the inevitable. Now he shrugged as he thought,  _So long as she knows it inevitable …_  


End file.
